Sailing Moon
by OneSizeFitsAll
Summary: When a young fairy named Omiel finds one of the three Silmarils, she makes it her mission to return it to its owner. But once she joins up with a peculiar wizard-or, at least, a wizard wannabe, a suspicious dwarf who never can get anyone's name right, an ex-Faramir-fan, a pizza loving snaga, a goth balrog, and many others, she accomplishes a quite different purpose.
1. Chapter 1: Discovery

Chapter I

The axes gleamed in the twilight as they rose and fell. Several yards away, yet another tree was falling, as the orcs pulled on the rough ropes. Everything was silent, except for the rhythmic _chop-chop_ and the occasional crash of trees. In the forest, hundreds more orcs wandered, noiseless. The scouts, up in the trees all over the forest, kept their eyes open for any fairy who might happen upon the scene.

* * *

Omiel leaned back against a tree and stared up at the sky. The moon was shining brightly through the leaves-but then, it did every evening. The river was sparkling and bubbling briskly, but it sparkled and bubbled morning and evening, every day. It was all terribly dull.

Still, the river was less dull than anything else. At least it moved. It was going somewhere, something Omiel felt that she had never done even once in her entire life.

Omiel counted the stars for no particular reason except that she did it every evening. There was a small star just above her, its light filtered through the leaves. It was milky white and shone luminously, as all lights do.

"Oh!" said Omiel, sitting up suddenly. It wasn't a star-the light was coming from high up in the tree itself. There were multiple pinpricks of light, coming from between the thick leaves, all close together. There was something up there, something bigger than a star. She gave a quick glance about her, then caught the branch above her head and proceeded to climb up the tree.

It was a great, tall tree, pointing far up into the dark blue sky, but Omiel was used to climbing and didn't have nearly the amount of trouble most girls wearing long, flowing dresses would have had. She scrambled from branch to branch, never looking down to see if she was ten feet, twenty feet, or fifty feet from the grassy ground below. As she went up, the light above grew ever brighter and brighter until at last she found herself staring up at a magpie's nest, from which the glow was emanating.

She gave one last lurch onto the branch above, then gratefully sat still, panting. She thrust her hand into the bird's nest and drew out a smooth round stone. It was clear, and shone with a white brilliance. She stared at it in delight; it was so beautiful.

At last she slipped it into a deep pocket and began the descent.

It was nearly midnight when at last she slipped through the gates of Pacil Herdun. She hurried through the cobblestone streets, weaving her way in between the houses, by highways and back alleys, until she gained the highest point, and found herself at the great House itself.

Her father was at the door, speaking with one of the servants. The servant left as she approached, and Omenfir turned to her with a smile, joining her as she entered the house.

"Father," she said, hesitantly, as they sauntered down a long passage. The passage from the front door to the Great Room, and most of the other passages, for that matter, had been built to be very long, so that one could entertain a long conversation while walking without having to stop and stand outside a door. The fairies had always understood how much more conducive it is to communication to take part in it when walking, rather than while sitting or standing.

"Father,"she said, "I have something I want to show you." She drew forth the stone she had found and held it out to him.

His eyes were full of wonder as he gazed into its depths. "Where did you find this?" he asked her.

"In a tree by the river,"she replied. "What is it?"

"One cannot know for certain," said Omenfir, "but to me it looks to be that Silmaril which fell from the brow of Eärendil, the elvish mariner, long years ago.' He held out his hand for it, then quickly drew it back. "You have found this thing," he said, "you must keep it."

'Keep it? But I have no right to keep it."

"You have every right," said Omenfir, hurriedly turning away, "You found it, it is yours."

"But if it was Eärendil's, it belongs to the elves, does it not?"

"Undoubtedly, if it is the Silmaril."

Omiel pondered this statement for a moment or two, but was unable to make sense of it. There had to be something wrong with that kind of logic.

"Then it should be returned to them," she said at last, "shouldn't it?"

"Of course, that would be desirable, but who would take it to them? Would you?"

"If none else will. It must be done by someone."

Omenfir smiled sadly. "You are brave," he said, "but rash. And more than that, you have no knowledge of past times. Have you never been told that long ago, not long after the Silmaril itself fell, the outer lands were hidden from our sight, and we from theirs? And now none can enter our dominion from beyond, and neither can any one of us can pass their borders. This thing cannot yet be returned."

"You said 'yet'," said Omiel, slightly irritated. She had a feeling he was hiding something from her-a lot of somethings. "Shall the elves ever receive their own?" she concluded.

"They shall. When the time comes."

"What time?" asked Omiel, stopping to wait for his answer.

Omenfir continued along the hall without her. "The time when the prophecy shall be fulfilled. I said you have no knowledge; have you not heard the ancient prophecy, 'Eärendil, Menon o Elvejihren, i Ceth-Ʋfan opir'? In it's proper time, the Silmaril shall return."

"And you believe that time is not yet come?" she asked, once more resuming her course along the floor, a few steps behind her father.

"I do."

"Then," she said, running and catching him up, "it is my duty to endeavor to make a way, is it not?"

"Omiel,"said Omenfir, stopping suddenly (they had just reached the door of the Great Room, in spite of the precautions instituted in building) and turning to her, 'are you sure you want to attempt this?"

"How could I do any less?" she asked with a shrug.

He sighed and turned away. "Then you must journey to King Tamil at Pacil Ʋfan. He alone can help you on such an errand. If you wish, I will ready a fleet."

"Oh," said Omiel quickly, "you needn't do that. Really, I'd much rather go alone."

"Alone? Nonsense. You must be accompanied."

"Oh, I don't mean _alone_ alone. It's just that I'd rather have as few people as possible. It would be such a bore to have a whole ton of people everywhere, and not just for me. They'd all hate it, too. Really, one small boat would do-one other person even."

"Very well,' said Omenfir, shrugging, "I shall send Omir with you."

"Omir?" she exclaimed in dismay. "If you don't mind, I'd much rather have someone else."

"Either Omir or a fleet. Whichever you prefer." He opened the door, preparing to take his leave as if it really didn't matter which she preferred. "You should be able to leave the morning after tomorrow. Good-night."

* * *

The sky was the faintest bit grey when the doors to the Great Room opened once more. The clang awakened the sleeping King and he hurriedly sat up in the throne he occupied. He barely had time to arrange his royal robes a little more as befits a king before a young fairy entered the room. It took him some time to reach the throne from the doorway, but at last he dropped to his knee before Omenfir.

"You wished to speak with me, Dad?" he said rising.

"Yes, my son," said Omenfir, stifling a yawn. "I have an errand I wish you to do."

"Oh,"said Omir quickly, "I'm sorry I'm so late. I would have come sooner had I known."

"Do not trouble yourself," said the King, sitting up as straight as he could, that he might not be tempted to fall asleep again, "it cannot be done at once anyway. I want you to journey to Pacil Ʋfan. You will go by water-how soon can you be ready?"

"I am ever ready to do your will." This was not strictly true. If Omenfir had told him to stab himself or jump off a cliff he probably would have been most unready. All he meant by this high sounding speech was that he wished to know when his father wanted him to be ready. Of course, the King knew to take it this way.

"Then you can leave-" he paused, wondering if he should refer to it as tomorrow or the day after tomorrow. It was nearly dawn, wasn't it? "-on Cefan the 3rd by the traditional reckoning of fairies?"

"Tomorrow?" asked Omir, in surprise. (So that was what it was, thought Omenfir.) "Is the fleet already ready?"

"You won't be taking a fleet," said Omenfir, who by this time was keeping his eyes open by sheer force of will, "you will go alone."

"Alone?"

"Well, not quite alone. Omiel is going with you."

"Omiel?' he said, obviously not pleased with the idea, "But-she's not strong enough to row, and I shall need someone to alternate with."

Omenfir considered this for a moment. He should have thought of that before. "You shall have to take one other with you-Ruvir perhaps?"

"What about Dakir?"

"Dakir?" asked the King, visibly surprised. "Ruvir's son?"

"He's my friend, and I'm sure he'd be willing to go, which is more than most. What's more he's strong-a good oarsman."

"Very well," said Omenfir. He was too tired to think about it any more anyways. "If he is willing he shall accompany you."

"Couldn't we leave Omiel behind?"

"If it weren't for Omiel, none of you would be going. So, you can leave-(what had he said again? Ah, that was it.)-tomorrow?"

"I'll be ready any time. Do you mean tomorrow tomorrow or today tomorrow? It's already dawn."

People! They always had to complicate things. "I mean tomorrow tomorrow. I'll have to speak with Dakir and Ruvir before any definite plans are made, but be ready by then. Now you should really get some sleep."

"All right, Dad." He bowed and turned to the door.

Omenfir's head had fallen back against the throne before he reached it, and as the door clanged shut, the King emitted a loud snore.

* * *

The 3rd of Cefan by traditional fairy reckoning, which means the same date in June in modern times, dawned clear and bright.

Only a very small group was gathered by the docks. Very few had been told of the journey, not because it was considered a very important secret by any, but because none of those involved, especially Omiel and Omenfir, wished for a great crowd of curious observers. That would lead to too many awkward questions, which most could not answer and the two aforesaid did not wish to.

Ruvir and Dakir were loading the boat. Omiel had not been any more pleased to learn that Dakir was coming than she was about Omir. Especially as it meant, with Omir around to boss things, that she would probably not be allowed to row, or do much of anything, really. Omir himself, who had been seized with a sudden fear that he had forgotten something extremely important and had duly unpacked his entire knapsack to make sure, was now repacking it, having found all as it should be. Omenfir was standing nearby giving him last minute instructions on where to turn and where the rapids were worst. Omiel was sitting on an overturned canoe, waiting until she could get into the boat without Omir telling her she was it the way.

She fingered the gold chain around her neck, just to make sure the Silmaril was still there. She had hung it on a chain and dropped it beneath her dress. She didn't dare pull it out, as she was afraid someone, namely Omir or Dakir, would see it, and, for some unknown reason, she was very unwilling for that to happen.

Finally, the loading was finished. Ruvïr drew aside-he was rather glad it was his son that was taking the journey and not him-and Omïr leaped into the boat. Dakïr waited to help Omïel in.

Omïel stood up, briefly flung her arms about her father's neck, slung her knapsack over her back, and let Dakïr hand her into the boat. Then he climbed in himself and cast off.

Omïel watched first her father, then the docks, then the city itself disappear with a certain sense of satisfaction. She was going somewhere at last.


	2. Chapter 2: Orcs and Balrogs

Chapter 2

"This has to be it," said Omir. "It looks just like the map, and if it isn't where _are_ we?"

"I've told you a million times," said Omiel hotly, pointing to the map. "We're right here."

"And I've told you that we haven't gone nearly that far yet. Besides, that's ever so much smaller than this river."

"Oh, of course this map was drawn life size."

"Oh, girls have no idea how to scale things in their minds. Dakir," he called to his friend, who was making breakfast, "don't you think this is the place?"

"I think we've passed it," said Dakir bluntly.

"You're both hopeless. But Dad put you in my charge, Omiel, so you've got to do as I say. And I say we turn here."

"Turn then, if you want! I'm staying here and _walking_. I won't go the wrong direction-I haven't got that much time to waste, unlike you." She jumped up and set off running along the wooded bank.

"Hold up," said Omir, running after her and catching her by the arm. "Man, I wish Dad had let us leave you home. You're not leaving now, anyway."

"What on Middle Earth is that?" said Dakir suddenly. He had followed them as they had run.

They turned to look, and saw that he was staring at Omiel. A bright light was emanating from just below the neckline of her dress.

"What have you got there?" asked Omir, in wonder.

Omiel hurriedly reached up and covered the glow of the Silmaril. "It's none of your business," she said firmly, "now let me go."

A blood curdling yell interrupted her. The three fairies swung around in fright, just in time to see a grotesque figure drop out of a tree several some distance away. Without stopping to think, they turned with one accord and ran.

"What was that?" gasped Omiel as she fled, holding up her skirts as best she could.

"Orc, I think," answered Omir. "It looked just like the pictures in the old books."

"Where's your sword?"

"I left it behind at the camp," he replied. "What about your bow?"

"The same."

Omiel glanced over her shoulder to see that three more orcs had joined the first. She looked down to see that the light from the Silmaril had only grown brighter. Bother, she thought. They must have seen it.

The two boys had already outstripped her by some distance, not having skirts to carry, but the orcs were gaining quickly on all of them, with or without skirts. Suddenly, through a gap in the trees she saw they were heading straight for an insurmountable cliff, which, though they had been able to see it from the river, had been invisible in the thick foliage of the forest.

Omir and Dakir had seen it too, for they were turning to the right. Omiel redoubled her efforts and turned as well. Suddenly there was another yell and several orcs appeared in front of them.

Once more they turned, directly around, this time. But still more orcs appeared in that direction. This wasn't fair. Orcs weren't even supposed to be in fairyland; what had all that been about nobody being able to get in or out?

They once more headed for the cliff, though there really wasn't much of a point. Finally, they burst out into a small clearing to see nothing but a bare rock face before them with a small door in it. Hopelessly, they made for this door, fearing what might be behind it but little less than the orcs following. But it was the only possible avenue of escape.

But soon even it wasn't. For two more orcs appeared in it, staring at them, with horrible smiles upon their cruel faces. The three fairies stopped, gasping and helpless, and turned to face the onslaught.

One of the smaller orcs which had been following them did make a savage leap towards them, but the orc they had first seen pulled him aside and gave him a heavy blow on the side of his head with his fist.

"Hands off!" he growled. "Their ours, we found them." He advanced slowly, eyeing the light that was still emanating from the Silmaril.

"No you don't, Sjambok," barked one of the orcs from the doorway, by far the largest present, stepping forward with his hands on his hips. "The Boss wants all prisoners brought to him before molestation, and you know what happens when the Boss is angry."

"But the Boss needn't know we found these," said another orc, one of the three Omiel had seen join Sjambok. It appeared to be a girl, as far as an orc could resemble anything feminine. "Even you," she went on, looking at the large orc, "would enjoy getting your teeth into such a treat." She sidled up to them and poked Omir rudely in the ribs. "Just see how fat and juicy this one is!"

"I'm not fat!" cried Omir.

"Quiet!" barked the large orc.

"Blast!" snarled another orc next to Sjambok whose name was Chabouk, if they had known or cared, "We've had nothing but stale bread for three stinking days!"

"I can't even remember what pizza1 tastes like," whined the smallest of the orcs. He did indeed look half starved, and Omiel almost felt sorry for him, thinking of her own delicious breakfast. Besides, he was cute.

"Forget it, Kurbash," snapped the large orc, "fairies taste awful anyways."

"Since when did you find that out," Omir muttered, loud enough for the large orc to hear.

"Hold your lip!" growled the orc, giving him a blow on the cheek which nearly sent him reeling.

"I don't care how bad they taste," said the orc who had complained about the bread. "They're meat-that's good enough for me."

He sprung suddenly towards them. Omiel took a step back and tripped over a stone. She struggled for her balance, then fell backwards. The Silmaril slipped out of her dress, swinging through the air on its golden chain. Her head fell through the small doorway they had seen, and suddenly she disappeared.

Omir and Dakir leaped to the door and rushed in after her before the orcs had time to draw their swords and bows. They found themselves in a great cave full of orcs, most of which were rushing towards them. Omiel was next to them, lying on the the ground. Omir quickly pulled her to her feet and prepared to drag her back through the door.

As she got up, she once more uncovered the Silmaril, which was shining, as it seemed, more brightly than ever, illuminating the cavern with a great brilliance. The orcs suddenly put their arms up to their eyes, as though blinded. Omir pulled Omiel towards the door.

Suddenly she got a crazy idea. "No!" she cried, yanking her arm from his grip and setting off at a run. "We can go this way!"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Omir called to her, but she ignored him. After a brief moment of indecision, he ran after her. Dakir dutifully followed.

They soon caught her up, and the three ran together. Everywhere they went, the orcs shrieked and cowered back against the walls or ran away down the side passages. Omiel led the party, running slightly ahead, turning this way and that, but always heading upwards.

Suddenly, they came to a place where the path suddenly dropped steeply downwards. As far as they could see by the light of the Silmaril, which had been growing dimmer, it continued going down indefinitely.

"We'll have to turn back," said Omir. "If we go back to that last fork, we can take the other path. They both went up about the same amount."

"No," said Omiel stubbornly. She was sick of him ordering her around, and it didn't occur to her that he hadn't successfully made her do anything yet that day. "It's going to go up again," she said. "We'll only have to go down for a little while."

"How do you know?" asked Omir incredulously.

She did not deign to answer him but set off by herself.

"You done nothing but ruin this whole journey!" said Omir in frustration. "Why'd you have to come in the first place?"

"Why did _you _ have to come in the first place?" asked Omiel, turning around. "I didn't want you to come. You can leave now if you want."

"I think I will!" cried Omir angrily.

"We can't," said Dakir, practical and blunt as always. "The only thing that's kept us alive so far is that thing around your neck. What is it, anyway?"

"That's none of your business," said Omiel, turning quickly away. "And I'm going on, so you can either come or leave."

Omir reluctantly followed her, with Dakir in tow.

* * *

What seemed like hours later, they were still going down. The Silmaril was only giving a faint glow now, and all around the small circle of light the darkness closed in. Deep in the shadows beneath them, they thought they heard great booming drums, but Omiel still led tirelessly on.

Slowly, the air, which had, up until that point, been steadily getting colder, began once more to grow warm. It was so gradual that at first they did not realize it, but soon it was as hot as a summer's day, and still growing warmer. Also they saw a light far ahead, a hole of gold in the immense darkness.

They walked forward with renewed hope toward the light, for it appeared that they had found the way out at last. The light grew brighter and brighter, and the heat grew stronger, until suddenly Omir stopped.

"Wait!" he said, "that's not the way out-there's a fire down there!"

"Impossible!" said Omiel, stopping nonetheless. "There's nothing down here to burn."

"But us," said Dakir, who had also paused.

"Thanks," replied Omiel. "That was encouraging."

"It is a fire," insisted Omir, "since when has it ever been this hot?"

Omiel realized he was right. Anyhow, the light was too red to be daylight. "Bother," she said turning. "We'll have to turn back."

"That's not fire," said Dakir suddenly, "but it's not daylight, either. It's moving-this way."

They spun about to look, and saw that he was right. They had not noticed while they had been walking, but the light and heat was quite definitely moving towards them.

"What do we do?" asked Dakir.

Omir shrugged. "What can we do? Run!"

They accordingly ran. Back up the steep path they hurried, feeling the scorching heat on their backs acutely. Whatever was pursuing followed tirelessly, slowly gaining on them.

Once only did Omiel look back to see a vague black shape, flashing red and yellow fire. She thought of the stories she had heard and the pictures she had seen. A dragon? She had never heard of a black dragon2. Or was it just the bright light about it that made it appear black?

They had almost given up hope of escape when from a smaller side path rushed a small figure. He was dressed in a crimson robe and hat, carrying a queer twisted staff, with red hair falling to his shoulders and some red scruff on his chin that could have been called a beard. "Follow me!" he cried.

Omir and Dakir accordingly followed. Omiel hurried to catch up.

"Why are we following him?" she cried to Omir as she came alongside of him. "You've no idea whether he's a friend or not!"

"I'm following him," replied Omir, panting, "because he's going the way I meant to go anyhow."

The red figure ahead suddenly stopped. "Keep going! Keep going!" he cried. "I'll hold him up."

They did not have to be urged. They galloped past, as he stood to the side of the path, shouting for them to hurry. Omiel glanced back for a moment and saw the seemingly tiny red figure standing in the middle of the pathway, facing a huge black beast with a flaming whip.

"He'll be killed!" she cried out in distress.

"Well there's nothing we can do about it," said Omir, though he looked back as well.

"Go on!" cried the figure, "I have it under control!" Suddenly a bright white light flashed where he had been. Omiel turned and fled.

Gradually the heat and light grew less and the cold and darkness closed in once more.

* * *

1 Allegedly, pizza was first introduced to orcs by Saruman the White, and it's popularity quickly spread throughout the entire orc world. It was the national food of Mordor, and pizza peddling was the prefered occupation of orcs who were not forced to work for Sauron. For more information on orcs and pizza, see 'Lego The Lord of the Rings-Nintendo Wii'.

2 Fairies were not familiar with the film "How To Train Your Dragon", which was not popular at this time anyways, even among men, having only a cult following. King Thranduil of the elves banned it from Mirkwood, for its implications that dragons were not evil, an unpopular sentiment among practically everyone but orcs. It is rumoured that it was very widespread among orcs, and even, by a few of the malicious, made by orcs, though the truth of both statements has never been proved.


	3. Chapter 3: In the City of the Dwarves

Chapter 3

Up and up the passage led. They had reached the original fork and turned the direction Omir had originally advised. They walked with comparatively light hearts-they had seen neither orc nor beast.

Still, Omiel was far from happy. She had gone the wrong way while Omir and Dakir were there to see, she had gotten them and herself into a whole mess of trouble, and finally she had been obliged to give in to Omir and do as he said, something she never enjoyed. What was more, Dakir kept glancing at her in an odd way, and she had a good idea of what he was thinking about.

Finally, Omir broached the subject. Omiel was rather surprised that he hadn't mentioned it sooner. "What is that thing you've got around your neck?" he said at last.

"That's none of your business," said Omiel stubbornly.

"It's none of my business to ask about something which first almost gets us killed, and then saves us from a whole den of orcs?"

"That's right."

"Well, it may not be my business, but by Ulmo1 I'm going to find out anyway. Give it here."

"I will not!" said Omiel, suddenly frightened, though she did not know why. She hurriedly caught the Silmaril on it's chain and held it firmly in her grasp.

"Then tell me what it is." He took a threatening step forward.

"I'll tell you later," said Omiel, taking the only chance of escape. "But I have to take it to the elves."

Omir was even more surprised now. "None of us fairies can reach the elves," he said, stopping in his advance, "they're shut out."

"So are orcs," said Omiel.

Omir could find no answer.

"No, they're not," said Dakir, who hadn't completely followed the conversation, "we happen to be in a whole mountain of them."

Omiel ignored him. Omir, however, looked puzzled. "How on Middle Earth," he said, more to himself than anyone else, "_did_ a whole mountain full of goblins get into fairyland?"

"They didn't," said Omiel. "That is to say, they did-it didn't. The mountain full, I mean. This place isn't in fairyland. This is in the real world, and somehow the orcs found a way to get from here to our world."

"Well, it's good we have you here to tell us these things!" said Omir. "And just how do you know all that, professor?"

"A smart guess," snapped Omiel.

"Like your other guess that that passage was the right way to go."

"It would have been the right way to go if it hadn't had that thing in it."

"And that would have been a smart guess if it hadn't just been a dumb guess."

Omiel prepared to say something nasty back, but she never got the chance, for the simple reason that a hand was clamped over her mouth and her hands were tied behind her back. She saw that the same thing was happening to Omir and Dakir.

At last the hand let go. "Now hold your tongues," said a gruff voice, but not an orc voice. "I haven't time to listen to the two of you squall. March like gentlemen or you'll be sorry. Go on!"

"I'm not a gentleman," muttered Omiel as something hard pushed her from behind. The only answer she got was a harder push.

Up and up they went. Their captors walked behind without showing themselves, constantly prodding their backs or saying things like "Hurry up!" "Show a leg there!" "I haven't got all day!" and such like. If it had been at all possible, Omiel would have walked a great deal slower each time they said it, but, as it was, it was all she could do to keep them from forcing her to a run.

Someone had lit a candle or lantern of some sort, but it was behind them and gave but little light, so for the most part they could not see where they were going. Omiel kept tripping on the uneven floor, at times barely saving herself from falling. The boys were hardly better off. Every so often they passed a lamp set in the wall, but these burnt low, and were placed far apart.

At last they reached a place where two bright lamps burned on either side of the passage and two figures stood. Omiel gasped to see that they were dwarves, small but fully armed, both with a generous supply of knives, daggers and such like, one with a bow and the other with an axe.

They gaped at the fairies, and their captors, open-mouthed. Finally the taller one found his voice.

"What on Middle Earth is going on here, Dirk?"

A dwarf stepped out from behind Omiel into the light. He opened his mouth to say something, but the dwarf who had just spoken interrupted him.

"What were you doing down there? You've been told time and time again not to mess with the orcs until they mess with us! The King will be very angry when he hears of it."

"The King won't be angry when he sees what I found down there," said Dirk, pulling Omiel forward. "Fairies! Fraternizing with orcs! We should have killed the fairies when we had the chance. They were down there. Helping the orcs make their battle plans I wager, promising to help 'em!"

"We were doing no such thing!" cried Omiel.

"Oh weren't you? Tell that to the King," sneered Dirk.

"That's exactly what we intend to do!" said Omir hotly. "If you're so eager for him to meet us, take us to him!"

"You can go ahead and do that, Dirk," said the first dwarf. "And no more going down there without orders, fairies or no fairies."

He stepped aside to let them past, and Dirk led them along the passage beyond. It opened out into a huge hall lit with many lamps. Hundreds of dwarves moved about in it, and great columns of stone rose to support the stone ceiling.

"I say," said Dakir, which was unnecessary, as he was obviously talking even without telling them so, "this place is amazing!"

"Oh," said Dirk modestly, though visibly pleased, "it's really nothing. It fell into ruins long ago, and we haven't been here long enough to make it really beautiful. Now you ought to see the Mines of Moria or the Lonely Mountain-those are worth talking about. This place is tiny and contemptible in comparison."

"I think it is contemptible even out of comparison," said Omiel, who was feeling cross, "and if this is tiny, those other places you mentioned must be awful. I hate huge empty spaces."

"I suppose you think the orc dens are better," sneered Dirk. He seemed to like to sneer. "Crowded with orcs, they're not empty. But there not half as beautiful as the cities of the dwarves."

"I don't think the 'cities of the dwarves' are very beautiful."

"I suppose the orc dens are better? Nothing to look at but orcs and no light anywhere but in the deepest pits. Not much beauty there."

"I think orcs are cute," said Omiel stubbornly.

"Orcs are not cute," growled Dirk, glaring at her from beneath his bushy eyebrows.

"You're not cute," said Omiel rudely. (Afterwards she often regretted this speech.)

"Thankfully not, Miss Impertinence," said Dirk breaking into a hearty laugh. "I'm quite glad you think so."

"I take that back," said Omiel, "you're cute when you laugh."

"I am not!" growled Dirk, scowling again.

They reached a door on the other side of the hall where two more heavily armoured dwarves stood. Dirk spoke briefly to them and they let them enter.

They were led into a great room which even Omiel would have had to admit was beautiful had anyone asked her. Unfortunately, nobody did, and she did not volunteer her opinion. At the head of the room was a great throne on which was seated a lordly looking dwarf with a crown on his head.

"What is it?" The King asked after the perfunctory bows.

"Your Majesty," said Dirk, "these fairies were found in the dens of the orcs." After that, he seemed to feel he had said enough and simply stood back and watched.

The King looked at the fairies with surprise on his countenance. "Three fairies," he said, as if to himself, "a fat one, a skinny one, and a girl."

"I'm not fat!" said Omir. There could be no denying that Dakir was skinny.

"And I see no reason I should be placed last, if I am a girl!" said Omiel.

"Oh, get over yourself," murmured Omir.

The King gave them a stern look which sufficed to silence them. Then he spoke to Omir. "I wish to know not what your physical characteristics may be, but what you are doing here, or more specifically, in the orc dens."

"Ask her," said Omir, and finally, deciding it would be the wisest course of action, tacked on a "your Majesty."

The King looked at Omiel.

"I'm trying to get to the elves," she said shortly, not wanting to give too much away.

"And you took a shortcut through the orc dens?"

"More or less-I guess you could call it that." The King said nothing. Obviously he wanted her to go on. "Well," said Omiel, growing uneasy, "it was like this. We were trying to get to the elves when we were ambushed by orcs, and the mountain was the only way of escape."

"The mountain full of orcs?" asked The King.

"Well," said Omiel, awkwardly, "we didn't exactly know it was full of orcs when we went in."

"But you kept going?"

"There were orcs behind us, too. We had just as much of a chance going forward."

"Just as much? How many orcs were behind you?"

"Fourteen, I think."

"There were hundreds ahead. I don't think you had 'just as much of a chance'."

"We had no idea how many there were."

"But surely you saw more than fourteen."

Omiel didn't answer. The King turned to Dakir.

"About how many orcs did you see?" he asked.

"I didn't have time to count," said Dakir frankly. "They were running too fast."

"But there were many?"

"Oh, thousands!"

Bother, thought Omiel, why had he had to talk to Dakir?

"And how, with all these thousands running at you, did you manage to escape?"

"I didn't say they were running at us!" said Dakir, shocked. "They were running away."

The King was dumbfounded for a moment or two. Then he said, "And just why were they running away from you?"

"Don't you dare," Omiel said softly, with menace in her voice.

Dakir looked at The King and said nothing.

"Tell me!"

"I'm sorry," said Dakir, "but I can't."

"Why not?" The King was obviously not used to being defied so plainspokenly.

"I can't disobey the Princess," he answered bluntly.

Honestly, thought Omiel, she was really going to have to get rid of Dakir if she meant to get to the elves.

His statement electrified the dwarves. They were shocked and unsure of what to do. They couldn't just let them go, but what would the fairies do it they found out that the dwarves were holding their Princess?

"Is this true?" The King asked Omiel. "Are you the Princess?"

"Yes," said Omiel. There wasn't much of a point in denying it anymore. "And my father will be very angry when he finds you've treated me like a criminal and that your men poked sticks into my back."

"Those weren't sticks!" said Dirk, clearly offended. "They were axes!"

The King shifted uneasily in his chair. "Who are these others with you?"

Omiel decided to make a clean break for it. They would have to try to scare them into letting them go. "This is Omir, my older brother, and heir to my father's throne," she said. "This is Dakir, our servant."

"Don't be a goose, Omiel," said Omir. "He's not a servant, he's a friend."

The King looked upset and perplexed. Finally he spoke. "Dirk," he said, "take these-um-people home and treat them as guests. We will decide on the proper course of action in due time."

Dirk bowed, untied them, and led them away.

"So you're going to the elves?" asked Dirk. "You're fools."

"What's wrong with elves?" asked Dakir.

"Prigs and traitors. Never trust an elf."

"You don't trust elves, fairies, or orcs, I assume," said Omir. "Who do you trust, except for dwarves?"

"I don't trust dwarves, either. I don't trust anyone. But elves are the worst. Especially Lothlorien elves."

"What's wrong with them?"

"Well, as individuals, in general, the elves of Lothlorien aren't better nor worse than other elves. But as a group, they're just creepy. Not to mention their ruled by a beautiful witch-an enchantress named Galadriel. They say she can get into you head, read your thoughts, make you think things you don't want to think."

"Surely you don't believe all that?" asked Omiel.

"I don't believe it and I don't disbelieve it. Whether it's true or not, they're creepy and I don't like them."

"Do you like them less than orcs?"

"I hate orcs," said Dirk. "And you should too, if you know what's good for you."

"They didn't hurt us," said Omiel, more to be contrary than because of any real convictions.

"Evidently they didn't hurt your pride half as much as would have been good for you, Miss Impertinence," said Dirk dryly.

"Nor her tongue either," said Omir in disgust.

"You're talking about my tongue?" asked Omiel sarcastically. "Why don't you talk about 'your friend' after all the slips he made?"

"Who?" asked Omir, puzzled.

"Dakir, of course."

"Ha," said Dirk, "'your friend' as you called him might just have saved you from being imprisoned or worse. The King won't dare to do anything too bad to you now-we can't face war from both orcs and fairies. Not but that the orcs have been fairly quiet recently. It gives me the creeps."

"If it gives you the creeps," asked Omiel, "why were you down there poking into other people's business?"

"Someone has to keep an eye on them," he replied. "In my opinion, The King's been too slack in watching them. You never know when they're going to attack. I see some suspicious things down there, sometimes."

"Like fairies?" asked Omir.

"Yes, and hundreds of weapons being forged and all, but worst is the dancing."

"Dancing?" Dakir sounded amused. "Do orcs dance?"

"These orcs do. It's really creepy. They stand in one place and shake and wave their upper bodies in random patterns2. They don't do it to music, either."

"Aw," said Omiel, laughing, "how cute!"

Dirk glared at her. "My married friend had a nervous breakdown last month," he said. " Now I know why."

Omir snapped his fingers. "Of course!" he said. "Why didn't I ever think of that?"

"What?" asked Dakir.

"Having a nervous breakdown! It would be the perfect solution for getting rid of Omiel."

"Thanks," said Omiel. "Why don't you do that."

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. "Come in," barked Dirk.

A sulky looking dwarf entered. "The King wants to see you and the -uh-guests," he said shortly, and left.

"Is that you friend who had the nervous breakdown?" asked Dakir curiously. He had no idea what a nervous breakdown was and would have liked to see someone who had had one.

"No," said Dirk. "That's another of my friends. He's mad at me for getting him in trouble by making him go down with me to the orc dens." He seemed quite imperturbed by this fact.

Omiel came into the presence of The King slightly frightened. Not of what he might do to them, but of the possibility of his finding the Silmaril. She felt rather nervous as she stood before him.

He seemed inclined to make himself agreeable. "My dear-people," he said, smoothly, "I'm so sorry for the inconvenience all this must have been to you. But we will not delay you any longer. You say you wish to find the elves, I have a map here which will show you the way. I will personally accompany you to the entrance of the mountain. Please understand the precaution. Then you are free to go on as you please."

Omiel smiled uncertainly. This was too easy. Why on Middle Earth would orc fraternizers be released so readily, simply on plea that they were a prince and princess?

They followed the dwarves through seemingly endless labyrinths, twisting and turning this way and that, through mines, great empty halls, and simple blank stretches of tunnels. Finally they came upon a great stone door which was duly unbolted and opened. Only then did Omiel realize just how much she had missed the moon.

It was shining now, mid myriads of stars. She had not known that it was night-there seemed to be no such thing as time in the deep recesses of the mountain-but it seemed natural to come above ground just in time to view such a scene.

"Good-bye," said The King, "I'm so sorry for any inconvenience. You are going to Lothlorien, are you not? That is where the directions lead to."

And then he was gone.

Omir shivered. "Nice of him to turn us out in the middle of the night when we can't travel anyways. And we don't have a tent or anything really."

"I have a blanket of sorts in my knapsack," said Dakir.

Omir looked astonished as he pulled it out. "How did you fit anything else in there? All right then, we'll pitch camp."

For once, Omiel did not oppose the idea.

* * *

1 Ulmo is one of the Valar, his province is the water. It is said that he was the father of the second fairie of all time, who in turn was father to a great race. Omir, and all of the fairies of Pacil Herdun, would be his descendants, and often referred to him.

2 Dancing was introduced to orcs by the MOS (Mouth of Sauron). It was especially popular in Mordor, where it became a game to try to dance while the light from the Great Eye of Sauron was resting on one. Orcs would keep a record of how many times they did this and the ones with the most times were highly respected. Outside of Mordor it became a means more of exercise than of entertainment. Orc drill masters in some areas would make their soldiers dance for an hour each day. For more information on orcs dancing, see 'The Lord of The Rings-Nintendo Wii'.


	4. Chapter 4: Elves, Men, and Orcs

Chapter 4

It had been several days since they had left the dwarfs. The Grey Mountains, as they were referred to on the map, had grown small and blue behind them and they had entered a forest that was marked on the map as Mirkwood, but they were still a long way from Lothlorien. They trudged on, without talking for the most part. They were sorry they had left the boat behind, for they were all better sailors than walkers.

"I wonder if all that Dirk said about Galadriel was true," said Omir suddenly.

"Oh, Dirk just says things," replied Omiel.

"How do you spell 'Galadriel'?" asked Dakir.

"G-a-l-a-d-r-i-e-l," said Omir.

"But then you would pronounce it 'Gaylaidriel'!"

He received no answer. This was because an arrow suddenly sped past Omir's ear and caught into a tree trunk.

"Your dwarf breathes loud enough for me to shoot him with my eyes closed!" called a feminine voice through the trees, and a tall blonde elf stepped out.

"We don't have a dwarf!" said Omiel.

"I know," said the elf, chuckling to herself. "I was quoting a movie. Did I sound authentic? I want to be an actress, you see."

They didn't have time to answer, for another blonde elf suddenly dropped lightly out of the sky. Or perhaps it was the tree overhead. Omiel couldn't tell.

"Who enters Mirkwood without permission from Thranduil, Elven King?" he said haughtily.

"Wait a minute," said Dakir. "It's a boy!"

"Uh-" said Omiel.

"Of course I'm a boy," snapped the elf. "Stop playing games with me. Who are you?"

"We're fairies-" began Omiel, but he interrupted her.

"I can see that, what is your business? Why are you here?"

"We are journeying to Lothlorien to speak with Lady Galadriel," said Omir. "We ask for safe passage through Mirkwood."

A black bird flew shrieking overhead. Before Omiel realized what was happening, the he-elf had out a bow and arrow and fired a shot into the sky. The bird landed with a thump at Omiel's feet and an arrow through its heart.

"Aw," she said, "why'd you do that?"

He ignored her. "Your request is for the time denied," he said to Omir. "You will be taken to Thranduil and he will decide what to do with you."

He whistled, and another elf stepped forward. The three of them began to tie them up.

Bother, thought Omiel. First orcs, then dwarves, now elves. Who was going to capture them next-fairies?

Suddenly she heard the sound of approaching hooves. A horse rode into the clearing with a man on its back. It actually was a man, not an elf. Omiel could tell because he did not have long hair cascading down his back, though he still had rather too much. Also, she had never heard of an elf with glasses. Actually, she had never heard of a man with them either, but this man was quite definitely wearing spectacles.

"What's going on here, Loriel?" he asked the elf.

"So it _is_ a girl1!" said Dakir in astonishment.

"I am not a girl!" said Loriel. "Why does everybody keep saying that?"

"What is it?" asked the man again.

"Fairies trespassing on Mirkwood land," said Loriel, sulkily.

"Fairies?"asked the man in surprise. He dismounted and walked toward them. His glasses were too big for him, he had to keep pushing them up the bridge of his nose.

He looked at Omir first, then Dakir, then his eyes fastened on Omiel. He stared at the golden chain round her neck. Omiel started trembling in fright and looked about for a way to escape. But they were surrounded.

Suddenly the man dropped to his knees. "My Lady," he said to Omiel, "all the world bids you welcome!" He motioned for Loriel and the other elves to follow his example.

"You're out of your mind, Berand," exclaimed Loriel. "I'm not going to kneel to a fairy!" The other elves seemed to be of the same mind.

"This is no mere fairy!" said Berand. "This is her of whom it was spoken in the prophecy, 'Eärendil, Star of the Elves, and the Sailing Moon shall bear it.' We owe her our allegiance!"

The girl elf stared at Omiel with shining eyes. "So it is true," she said softly. "A fairy bears the Silmaril." She stepped forward and reached out her hand for the chain around Omiel's neck.

"Hands off!" said Omiel, "that's mine."

"I just wanted to look at it," said the elf sulkily.

"Leave her alone, Phylloxera," said Berand. "This thing must be delivered to Lady Galadriel herself."

"I can deliver it," said Phylloxera.

"It must be delivered by the Sailing Moon. Loriel, find some boats for these fairies. We must take them to Lothlorien."

"That's what we've been trying to tell you all along!" said Omir, losing patience.

"We?" Loriel asked Berand. "You expect me to travel with fairies?"

"I expect you to do as I say."

"I obey no man."

"I am no man!" interrupted Phylloxera, with drama.

"Er-obviously," murmured Omir.

"These fairies must first go to King Thranduil!" continued Loriel. "My loyalties lie with my own people, not outdated prophecies."

"The ancients were wiser than thou,"said Berand, laying his hand on his sword hilt.

"I was not speaking of the ancients, but of what they said. You can't believe those old scrolls and things. It's called progress. Out with the old and in with the new."

"Draw thy sword, Elf-no-I shall not call you an elf who would so lightly cast aside the wisdom of his forefathers," said Berand passionately, unsheathing his own. "Draw your sword and defend yourself!"

"Man," Omir said to Omiel, "he's almost as good as Phylloxera!"

Loriel quickly obeyed, seeming to forget his earlier statement that he would obey no man. The two swords clashed together as Phylloxera uttered a long, dramatic "Noooooooooooo!" The other elf's attention was turned to the two combatants as well. No one was looking at the fairies.

"Now!" hissed Omiel, who had succeeded in pulling the elven rope off her wrists and had just finished untying the others. "Let's go!"

They turned and crept softly away. They had almost reached the cover of the trees when Dakir tripped over a fallen branch and fell.

"Ow!" he shouted as a sharp stick found its way into his palm.

Berand and Loriel turned to look. "Stop!" cried Loriel, sheathing his sword and drawing his bow.

Dakir scrambled to his feet and all three fairies ran.

"Stop!" called Loriel again, fitting an arrow to the string and preparing to let fly.

"No!" said Berand, grabbing the bow. "Don't kill the Silmaril Bearer!"

Suddenly, a blood-curdling yell rang out ahead of them. The fairies froze in their tracks.

"Orcs!" observed Loriel, helpfully.

* * *

"I'm not going in Mirkwood, whatever you say," snarled Chabouk. "I don't fancy getting my head chopped off by that King Thranduil guy."

"You'll fancy your head being chopped off if I want you to," Sjambok growled back.

"I'm hungry," whined Kurbash.

"That was random," observed Chabouk.

"So was that," replied Kurbash.

"Look what I've got," cackled Scarpine. She reached behind her back and produced a pizza from nowhere, as it appeared. "Looks like meat's back on the menu!"

"Pizza!" shrieked both Chabouk and Kurbash together.

"Quiet, filthy maggots!" snarled Sjambok.

"Dynamite!" (that was Chabouk's favorite expression) "No one heard that," said Chabouk. He happened to be right, as Phylloxera's "Noooo" had drowned it out. "Come on, give us a piece!"

"We haven't time for eating right now. We've got to keep going." said Sjambok. "We've lost enough time, as it is."

"But we've had nothing but dry bread for a whole lot more than three stinking days," he whined.

"I can't even remember what pizza tastes like," said Kurbash.

"Forget it, you fat slobs. We've been over all this before."

"Nobody's fat here but you, Sjam," hissed Scarpine.

"Skinny slobs, then."

"Oh brother," muttered Chabouk. (He was his brother, in fact. They were all siblings, but that doesn't make a whole lot of difference to orcs.)

"Get a move on," said Sjambok, giving him such a violent cuff that it sent him reeling.

"Eeeeeek!" screamed Chabouk. (This was the blood-curdling yell the fairies heard.) He wasn't screaming about being punched, he was used to that. But as he was sent flying into a bush, an enormous black creature scuttled away. "Kurbash!" he cried in annoyance, "why did you have to bring Anthracite with you?"

"You scared him!" said Kurbash reproachfully.

"I scared him! That thing gives me the creeps. Why didn't you leave him home?"

"I couldn't leave him behind!" said Kurbash. "He would have been lonely without me!"

"Okay, okay," said Sjambok. "Quit all the jaw. Let's get moving, there's no way they didn't hear that scream, Chabouk."

* * *

"Loriel, what do your elf-eyes see?" cried Berand. Loriel was in a treetop, looking for the orcs. The other male elf had set off to find Thranduil to inform him of the orc trespassers.

"There are four of them," said Loriel. "All of them are armed. That's odd."

"What?" asked Omir. "That they're armed?"

"No-I could swear one of them is a girl. I didn't know those existed."

"Of course they exist," said Omiel. "Where do you think orcs come from? Holes in the ground?"

"They do come from holes in the ground," said Loriel, looking at her condescendingly.

"Four of them," said Berand. "And two of us."

"Where'd he learn to count," muttered Omir.

"Three of us," said Phylloxera.

"That's a little bit better," said Omir, "but I was thinking more along the lines of six."

"You have no weapons," said Berand. "Phylloxera, lead the fairies to safety."

"Me? Aw man!" said Phylloxera.

"Uh-I don't feel very safe with her," said Omiel, remembering how she had tried to take the Silmaril.

"How big are the orcs?" Berand called to Loriel.

"One big one, the girl, a medium sized one, and a tiny one-a snaga."

"A snaga?" asked Omiel, "Is that what they're called? How cute!"

"Phylloxera," said Loriel, "get that girl out of here! I'm about to have a nervous breakdown!"

"I want to stay and fight," complained Phylloxera.

"Don't be silly."

"I'm not going anywhere," said Phylloxera stubbornly.

"That's quite all right," said Omiel. "We can go to Lothlorien by ourselves."

"I've got an idea!" said Berand. "Come on down, Loriel!"

Loriel slid gracefully down the trunk. Berand led the way through the trees, dragging the fairies with him.

"Where are we going?" asked Loriel.

Berand pushed aside a branch and Omiel found herself looking at a river with two boats moored in it.

"Into the boats," said Berand. "And don't touch the water. It will make you fall asleep."

"Wait a minute," said Loriel. "An elf never runs in the face of danger!"

Suddenly four orcs appeared. "There they are!" growled the big one.

"Look!" cried Omiel as Berand pushed her into the boat. "It's Sjambok and Kurbash."

Loriel fit an arrow to the string. Just as he discharged it, he was struck with a violent fit of coughing. The arrow flew into Chabouk's shoulder, and Loriel leaped into the boat which Omir and Dakir occupied and started rowing violently.

"I thought an elf never runs in the face of danger," remarked Omir.

"I'm not running from danger," said Loriel. "I'm running from an allergy-or something."

"Huh?"

"My anthracosis is acting up."

"Nonsense," said Berand. "You just smoke too much."

Omiel looked over her shoulder just in time to see a strange black creature scuttle through the underbrush along the bank.

* * *

1 In fairie tradition, only girl's names end with 'iel'. Boys names usually end in 'ir', except for those of some of the very old men, who were born before this custom became popular. King Tamil was one of these.


	5. Chapter 5: A Knife in the Dark

Chapter 5

"Where exactly are we going?" asked Loriel, after they had left the orcs far behind them.

"Lothlorien," said Berand. "We must take the fairies to Lady Galadriel."

"That's all right," said Omiel. "We can go by ourselves."

"I'm not going to Lothlorien!" said Loriel.

"All right," said Berand with a shrug. "You can go back, then. But that anthracite is probably still around."

Loriel said nothing but kept rowing.

Berand glanced at the horizon. The sun had set already, and a pale waning moon had risen. "We should stop here for the night," he said. "Make for the west bank."

Loriel accordingly did. They pulled the boats up onto the bank and set up camp, while Dakir lit a fire and started cooking some bacon...the first meat the fairies had had for three days now. Omiel felt like an orc.

Loriel smoked and target practiced on mosquitos while the others were busy. After everything was assembled, they all gathered around the fire and ate dinner.

Phylloxera turned to Omiel. "How did you find this thing?" she asked.

"That's none of your business," said Omiel warily.

"I was just curious," said Phylloxera with a shrug.

"What exactly is this thing?" asked Omir. He sounded irritated. "You said you would tell me later, Omiel, now is a good time."

Omiel sat stubbornly silent.

"You mean," asked Berand, obviously surprised, "you don't know what she bears?"

"I know she carries a little clear stone on a chain around her neck that shines at random...often unfortunate...moments," replied Omir impatiently.

"And you have no knowledge of the early days?" Berand sounded excited. "Then I'll tell you the story."

"No!" cried Loriel. "Spare us!"

"Long ago, at the very beginning of all things..." began Berand.

"See what you did?" said Loriel. "He'll go on like this for hours now!"

"In the deepest depths of time," continued Berand, "were made the great peoples of the earth. There were the Elves, the firstborn of the One, Iluvatar, and they were the people of the Stars. There was the race of Dwarfs, made by Aule, the people of the Fire. Then came Man, also children of Iluvatar, the people of the Sun. And there was the race of Fairïes, and whence they came none is certain. But it is said that in the beginning, certain of the Valar took to themselves the form of men and women, and married elves, and the fairïes were their children. And they were called the people of the Moon, because they loved the night, and because while they were not so powerful as Elves or Man, they brightened the world in places no man could reach; or so it was said, though more likely it was because by that time, all other lights had been used for the naming of the other peoples.

"Of all peoples, only the fairïes were able to wield magic (it is said because of their Valar ancestors), and but few of those. Of these, King Tamil was the greatest."

"Thanks for the news bulletin," said Omir, yawning, "but I already knew all that."

Berand went on regardless. "The first three peoples dwelt happily in friendship for some time, but the elves and fairïes were not so well off at first. In ancient times the fairïes were merry and mischievous...and some are so still..." (this with a meaningful look at Omir) "...and both they and the elves have always been proud, but the elves more so."

"We are not!" said Loriel.

"And so it often happened," went on Berand, "that what would have been taken as a light jest by a man or dwarf, was counted as an insult and replied to as such by an elf. And what would, in time, have been forgiven by most, was held as a grudge for many years by a fairïe. And as the years went by, more and more often, quarrels and fights broke out between them.

"At last the head kings of Fairïes and Elves held a meeting, inviting also the lesser kings of the two peoples. Now it happened that on the night of the meeting, the moon was sailing upright, or, as men say, crescent- shaped, and lying on its back, and Eärendil was hidden behind it. And after certain decisions were made, King Tamil, by his great magic, took the moon, and made Eärendil to shine through, just above the curve of the moon. And it was a sign for the mutual friendship and freedom of the Elves and Fairies, and it came in time to be a sign for all people.

"And thus the prophecy came about, in Fairïe:

"Eärendil, Menon o Elvejïhren, ï Ceth-Ʋfan opir.

"And in the common tongue, as close as one can translate it:

"Eärendil, Star of the Elves, and the Sailing Moon shall bear it.

"And Eärendil traversed the sky, and whenever it passed behind a sailing moon, it shone through; and peace and prosperity endured on earth and in the heavens.

'But two hundred years after all these things, to the very night, the moon once more sailed upright and Eärendil passed behind it. And in that moment, the Silmaril fell from the brow of Eärendil, and was lost, and the light of Eärendil was no more. Even the dwarves and goblins came up from the mines and caves to see the sight; and all suspected the fairïes, for only fairïes could work such great magic.

"And none knew where the Silmaril had fallen, nor when it would return. But all believed the prophecy, that, one day, Eärendil would once more be ride upon the Sailing Moon. And the prophecy books and the ancient scrolls say that the prophecy means, moreover, that the Silmaril itself will be born back to the elves by a fairy of the House of the Sailing Moon.

"And now that prophecy has come to pass, for this fairy brings the Silmaril with her, and I judge she is a descendant of Ulmo, of the house of Herdun, and it only remains to find a way to return it to the sky and to Eärendil."

There was silence for a moment, then Phylloxera yawned. "Not that that wasn't terribly interesting and all," she said, "but I think it's time we get to bed."

The rest agreed, and soon they retired. But Omiel lay awake for a long while, pondering what she had heard. She had known the gist of the story before, but never had she heard it all at once and in detail, and she felt that something was missing. Berand had never mentioned…

A twig snapped a few feet away. Omiel's blood froze, and out of the corner of her eyes she saw Phylloxera making her way stealthily across the camp. She was coming straight toward her.

Omiel quickly shut her eyes, pretending she was asleep. She heard Phylloxera crouch down beside her. She felt fingers on her neck, on the chain. Almost before she knew what she was doing, she reached up and grabbed the elf's wrists.

Phylloxera started, then struggled violently. One of her wrists escaped Omiel's grasp and groped for the chain. Omiel tried desperately to hold her back. The elf had the advantage, being larger and on top, but somehow she never quite touched the chain. Omiel felt the sweat on her forehead as she squirmed, trying to get out from under Phylloxera. It was the only outward sign of her desperation. Neither of the girls was making a sound.

Omiel had almost gotten free, when Phylloxera reached behind her back and drew something out. An elven blade glittered blue in the moonlight and Omiel could stand it no more. "Aaaaaaah!" she screamed.

Dakir jumped out of sleep like a jack-in-the-box, with his mouth hanging open at the peculiar turn of affairs. Berand lifted his head groggily, then leaped to his feet. Loriel sat up as if he had been awake all along, looked at the unusual scene, and asked "Why did you do that?" as though it really didn't matter. Omir opened one eye, rolled over and promptly fell asleep again.

Phylloxera, seeing Berand catch up his sword, abandoned her position on Omiel stomach and fled into the forest. Omiel lay gasping on the ground, holding tight to the Silmaril.

"What was that all about?" asked Dakir.

Omiel sat up painfully and said nothing.

Loriel gazed vacantly at the place where Phylloxera had disappeared and coughed. "We should leave now," he said, nonchalantly.

Berand gathered up the blankets, frying pan, and other odds and ends, and kicked Omir. "Come on," he said. "We're leaving."

They put everything in the boats and rowed on towards Lothlorien.


End file.
